What Could Have Been
by averyge
Summary: "A ghost of a smile plays on her lips as she thinks of what could have been. And then the cannon booms." Clove thinks of what could have been in her last moments. Clato because I can't help it.


A/N: Omg I ship Clato so hard.

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What Could Have Been

Her entire life flashes before her eyes as the rock dents her skull.

"CLOVE!"

She turns her head to find out who called for her. She sees Cato, his cobalt eyes alive and wild, burning into her broken figure lying on the grassy field as he dashes to her side. His face is etched with forlorn, and he looks utterly broken.

He knows she's going to die.

Gathering her in his arms, she gasps for air as she struggles to keep her vision from blurring. Her head lolls to show the dent that Thresh has made in her skull, and he knows she's a goner, even if he doesn't want to accept his realization.

As blue eyes meet green, she whimpers painfully as the thought of never seeing those azure eyes ever again.

"Stay with me Clove, don't leave me!" He has never been so afraid.

Her bloodstained hand reaches up slowly to caresses his cheek, and she wheezes painfully at how difficult it is to perform such a simple action. Clove's eyes run up and down Cato's face, as she frantically tries to memorize every single detail of him. The battle scar he attained at his chin when she nicked him with her knife while sparring, the tiny mole under his eye that was only visible when she kissed him up close.

"You promised to never leave me, Clove! We promised to make it out of the arena, together!"

Her mind conjures up an image of the two of them, emerging from the train, hand in hand, victorious as they return from the Capitol. Mentoring the deadliest District Two tributes together, living in Victors' Village with Enobaria and the rest. Waking up in the morning in bed together, spending every moment with each other.

She thinks of the two of them marrying, and later on having two beautiful children. Their son, with his dark hair and emerald eyes, and their daughter, fair-haired and blue-eyed, both equally cunning and deadly as their parents. She imagines her children volunteering confidently for the Games when they turn 18, and the pride she and her husband would have felt when they emerged victorious in the arena, howling their victory cry.

Cato's hand clutches hers as he watches the life slowly leak out of those emerald eyes. Tears pool in his eyes, but he blinks them away furiously. He refuses to let her see him cry.

Clove remembers their first meeting in the training center. She was so small, but ultimately deadly, and she remembers how she smirked when a certain blond-haired boy came up to her, taunting her and teasing her. She recalls when they circled around each other, sword in his hands and knives poised in her fingers. She remembers punching him hard in the gut, before she felt herself being thrown back onto the floor. Bruised and bloody, the two greatest fighters in the training center went on and on, and no one made a move to stop them. They had abandoned their weapons entirely at some point, and wrestled each other till they were too exhausted to continue. Clove remembers panting loudly as she leaned on Cato's back, and they looked at each other and grinned in respect.

From that moment on, she knew he was hers.

She smirks a little at the memory, but sadness overwhelms her as she recalls her state and her surroundings. Cato by her side; unable to do anything. Her, lying in his arms, feeling death arrive slowly.

Clove remembers the first time they kissed. In the rain, outside in her backyard. Her eyes went wide when their lips crushed into each other, before blushing the faintest of blushes as she kissed him back. They were 14. From that day onwards, they were inseparable. It was as if they were attached at the hip. She loved him even then.

She remembers the two of them making out in his bedroom, both filled with so much love for each other. They stayed in each other's arms that night, whispering sweet nothings to each other and cuddling, unbeknownst to his parents.

And then came the reaping.

She vividly recalls that fateful day, as Cato watched in hidden horror as she made her way up to the stage. It was inevitable, you see, as the boys were reaped first in District 2. If Cato had known that the female selected volunteer had supposedly volunteered one-second too late, he wouldn't have bothered to take that male tribute's place. He didn't want to have to face the thought of having to fight his lover to the death in the 74th annual Hunger Games. But they had to keep it all in and force proud smirks on their faces as they shook hands and faced the cameras. No one but them saw the sorrow and forlorn hidden beneath their hard exterior, only visible through their eyes.

She remembers cursing angrily at the star-crossed lovers of District 12, jealous at how they could display their affections so openly, while Cato and her had to hide it all. Heck, that girl on fire didn't even love him! Clove remembers hitting the bull's-eye on her knife target every single time. With each throw, she had imagined that the District 12 girl's face was on it.

Clove recalls the bloodbath, sighing in relief when she realized Cato was not dead, yet so consumed by the thought that one of them had to die in the end. It was going to be her, Clove thought. She refused to let Cato die for her. He had a life full of promise in front of him, the riches and glory he would receive when he was crowned victor. Cato deserved it all.

She remembers cuddling with him in their tent, both trying to avoid the fact that only one could live as they pretended that everything was fine. She remembers breaking the alliance, only to run back into Cato's arms as it was announced that two people could live, as long as they were from the same district. She remembers kissing him fully on the lips; too ecstatic and relieved to even care that they were probably being filmed on live television. She remembers Cato spinning her around clutching her tightly in his arms as they refused to let go of each other. They were so happy then.

She blames herself for making Cato go after Foxface at the start of the feast. If she had not forced him to chase that bitch, they would have probably been still alive and together. But now, all was lost.

"Don't leave me, Clove." His voice is barely a whisper now.

She smiles painfully.

"I love you, Cato."

"I love you too, Clove."

A ghost of a smile plays on her lips as she thinks of what could have been.

And then the cannon booms.


End file.
